


And I'll Cry if I Want To

by demonjeans



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dark Comedy, End of the World, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Seth's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 08:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11123748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonjeans/pseuds/demonjeans
Summary: Things are different this year, for better or worse. Mostly worse. Maybe better in the long run. Because in roughly two weeks an asteroid is going to slam into this garbage planet we call Earth. And honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.





	1. Chapter 1

Normally, this time of year I'm going to Christmas parties, putting on a big smile, giving and receiving gifts from people I'd rather not be making eye contact with for every other month of the year. Things are different this year, for better or worse. Mostly worse. Maybe better in the long run. Because in roughly two weeks an asteroid is going to slam into this garbage planet we call Earth. And honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about it. 

Merry Christmas. We’re all fucked. 

Ok, look, what I wanted was a quiet night. Peaceful. I decided to have champagne tonight because why the hell not? It was nice, a bubbly sort of tipsy taking hold making me wander to the grand piano my mother bought when I was ten. She thought it would help me with focus. After about the third time my instructor hit my knuckles I bit him on the arm. 

I distinctly remember the term lockjaw, among other colorful words.

The piano, in all its high gloss black lacquer glory became a giant centerpiece of nothing. But this isn't about the piano, or maybe it is, because I thought it would be a great idea to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. 

Which leads me to now, freaking out holding a kitchen knife trying to not die. Fuck off with your irony, I want my last two weeks. 

About twenty minutes into trying and failing to playing this dumb song is when the front door begins rattling, knob twisting back and forth. 

I had vaguely worried about the possibility of a break in but with just two weeks left I thought the coast was clear. This is NOT how I want to go out. I turned for the balcony, the fire escape, figuring I could climb down and find someplace to hide.

Except, standing outside on the balcony, staring right at me, some fucking creep with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. This kind of thing would be a fun story a few weeks ago. I met a stranger on my balcony, we shared a few drinks and had a few laughs, can you believe it? 

The problem is there's no one left to tell those stories to. The problem is we're all going to die in two weeks. Maybe sooner in my case, the way this lunatic is watching me.

Fantastic.

And right now, all I can think of is that maybe I should've drank the kool-aid at the end of the world party three weeks back. 

Three weeks ago I woke up to a text from Tyler Breeze, the prettiest little socialite you’ll ever meet, telling me he was hosting an end of the world party. I thought it sounded funny, cute, very Tyler. Then I heard the police sirens, screaming, an explosion off in the distance. I rolled out of bed more annoyed than anything. You know that kind of feeling when you really have to piss but the bed’s too comfy? Whatever, explosions, smoke in the air. The morning skyline wasn’t great. 

Turns out the world was actually ending. A giant fucking rock hurdling through space that was supposed to get nudged out of the way, or blown up, or something. I had just gotten out of a month long fling with a guy from Switzerland. I didn’t want to read about it and he gave me the bullet points, anyway. We weren’t going to die. We weren’t going to die. Come on, sit on my lap, darling, we’re not going to die.

Well.

We’re going to die.

To say this party was over the top would be an understatement. Everyone decked out in their absolute best. The street littered with luxury cars parked everywhere because who cares? The world’s ending, don’t hold back. I half expected someone to be vomiting diamonds. 

Tyler sees me, smiles wide and shouts me over. He’s drunk but I don’t think I’ve seen him sober in years, kisses me and tells me he loves me. He’s so damn dramatic. I say that’s great and ask who’s here.

“Everyone.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyone worth anything?”

“Does it matter?” He smirks and for a moment it’s as though the party goes silent. Oh yea, the world’s ending. 

“Guess it doesn’t.”

And that’s how I ended up with Randy. I had never really been interested in him. My parents had oh so gently shoved him at me years ago. We’d be great together, they said. One dinner party conversation and I knew I didn’t want anything to do with him. Angry, ego driven relationships are great when you’re nineteen and desperate to make yourself known, I’m twenty-six and have better things to do.

Randy and I split a bottle of scotch and I learn he’s a lot more tolerable when he’s plastered. He’s almost cute. He calls me babe while I ride him and I try not to laugh. The music downstairs is so loud I don’t think he hears me. At some point we change positions and I’m struggling to breathe into a pillow. Suffocate or die in three weeks, least this way I’ll get to cum. 

When I wake up Randy’s shaking me telling me to get dressed. I tell him to leave me alone but he doesn’t stop. There’s panic in his voice and the music’s stopped. It’s silent. 

“What’s going on?”

“Get dressed.” He says throwing my clothes at me.

Bodies. The whole first floor is covered in bodies, unmoving, broken toasting glasses everywhere. I wanted puke and diamonds and I got it. Along with all of my friends dead, bile on their lips like it’s the latest trend. 

“Holy shit…” I mumble, clinging onto Randy’s arm as we make our way through. “Do you think…?”

“I don’t know.”

Half of these people are terrible at being consistent. The ‘oh just give me five minutes’ types. How the fuck could they do this so flawlessly? 

Outside I let go of Randy’s arm and draw in a deep breath of cold night air. He looks at me and I shiver, not because of him, it’s wintertime and I left my jacket somewhere in that massacre. Randy takes off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s sweet, maybe we could’ve been something. But after tonight I don’t think I ever want to see him again. 

“You going to be ok?” He asks. 

What a question. 

“Yea, I…” I put on my best sympathetic smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He doesn’t seem hurt by the words, nods and kisses me on the temple. I watch him walk away then head home. There’s three weeks left and everyone I know is dead. 

So, back to the blue eyed maniac here. The balcony’s unlocked because I’m a fucking idiot who never imagined someone climbing up here. My loft is on the fourth floor, tucked away in an odd little cul de sac you’d never get to unless told where to go. It’s absolutely unremarkable from the outside but my parents offered it to me and all my things were here anyway. 

He lets himself in and I run to the kitchen pulling a knife from its holder. He’s got this wild eye look to him underneath a disheveled mess of dirty blond hair. A sort of rebellious look that’d be attractive if I wasn’t worried about being murdered. Suddenly I’m thinking of The Shining and waiting to hear an axe break through my front door. This is just great.

“Hey, listen, I’m not here to hurt you.” He says holding up his hands carefully side stepping around the living room.

“Then get the fuck out!” I point the knife at him and gesture to the balcony. 

A few more steps and he’s at the front door, unlocks it and I feel like slitting my own throat for being so stupid. Standing at the doorway is this guy, he’s built in all the right places, long black hair. Again, pretty attractive if I wasn’t about to be murdered by him and blue eyes. 

“The fuck do you want?!” I shout, hoping that I seem somewhat threatening. 

I’m back to thinking of The Shining where the wife flails a kitchen knife wildly. That’s me. 

“We were downstairs,” says the blond, “and we heard someone playing the piano. Wanted to know who it was.”

“Thought the place was abandoned.” The brunette adds, putting on some kind of reassuring smile. Like that makes any of this better.

“Well it’s not.” I glare, gripping the knife tightly. “So you can leave.”

“Sorry, but if it’s all the same to you there are three empty flats downstairs and this place is pretty quiet. Safe.” The blond laughs, probably at his choice of words. Safe has become a vague term lately. “We’ll take the bottom floor. You won’t even know we’re here.”

“I’ll **know** you’re here.” 

“Seriously? I’m tryin’ to be nice here. We’re stayin’ anyways, deal with it.”

The brunette sighs. “We won’t bother you. Look, with how much time there’s left we just… Just want a place to chill out.”

“You do know breaking into my place is a really shitty way to make your case, right? Don’t mind us we’re gonna let ourselves in but we’re cool.”

Blue eyes snorts, leaning back against the threshold. “You got a point. But subtlety is pretty pointless nowadays, ya know?”

And I don’t know what to do. How the hell am I supposed to make them leave? I let out a slow calming exhale and lower the knife. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t overpower them and maybe they’re not so… I mean, the place is empty.

“Fine. Whatever.” I narrow my eyes at them both. “Take the bottom floor but stay the fuck away from me.” 

The brunette nods, gives what I guess is an appreciative smile and turns away for the stairs. Blue eyes glances from the piano back to me.

“Sounded nice, by the way.” He says. “For a lullaby.”

“...I’m not very good at it.”

I don’t know why I tell him that. It’s not something that matters. I’m used to fake compliments, it’s a large chunk of my night life. You’re so handsome, I don’t care who your parents are. You’re so smart, it’s not about the sex it’s about your personality. 

Just bend me over already, I’m getting bored.

We stare at each other a moment longer than necessary and I hear the brunette calling his name. Dean. 

“What’s his name?” I look past him to the hallway. 

“Roman.”

I hum in acknowledgement walking from the kitchen towards my bedroom, becoming too tired for all of this.

“Close the door on your way out.” 

“Didn’t catch your name.” 

Two weeks plus two strangers living floors below me. And I’m still not sure how I feel about this whole end of the world thing.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

 

I couldn’t rest much that night. Not because of Dean or Roman, I’ve just had trouble sleeping without some assistance. Usually in the form of an award winning bottle. But I didn’t feel like it last night. I stared at the half lit skyline, a fire blazing miles away. 

Went down to the third floor and let myself into the flat. Which, I know is hypocritical but I actually live in this building and she didn't come back home after the news hit. Left her door wide open and everything. I never bothered to learn her name and don’t care to, my mourning list is long enough as is. We made eye contact once, brief but enough time to know she’d have a medicine cabinet full of pills. You don’t get to have a face that taught without a mountain of painkillers. 

Her place was ornate, golds and reds, everything perfectly placed for display. Had an old Hollywood aura about it. Maybe she had been an actress, or an attempted one. A flip of a switch in the bathroom and I’m practically blinded. Vanity lights, not a soft yellow but an unforgiving daylight blue. A large mirror at the center of them revealing every line, pore, and blemish. It’d make anyone go a little overboard. 

I looked like shit. My hair’s a wreck and my beard could stand a trim. God, I’m actually embarrassed those two saw me like this. I might be dead soon but that’s no excuse. Anyway, the pills, that’s what I was here for. Something to take the edge off. 

There I am sitting on the bathroom floor with over a dozen pill bottles on my lap scanning over the labels for something recognizable. Tyler was good at this, he fucked a plastic surgeon on the side and knew all the ins and out. He thought it was fascinating, would go on and on about it. You’d think I’d pick something up along the way.

And suddenly my vision’s blurry. My jaw aching, clenched too tight. 

How could he have given up like that? How could all of them just casually poison themselves? 

Finally there’s a bottle that seems vaguely familiar and I take a few capsules, flopping down onto the would be actress’s bed. The sheets smelled of roses, soft and delicate. Maybe she went to a party like Tyler’s. But as my eyes grew heavy I wanted to imagine something else. This woman I don’t know or care about, I want to think she ran off. Escaped the bright lights of her bathroom and went somewhere that felt like home.

Whatever I took must’ve been strong. I’m not one for heartwarming endings. Maybe I’m in the denial stage of grief. Over Tyler, my friends, the actress… and myself. 

We’re going to die. No, they’re already dead. It’s just me and two strangers. 

In the haze of tired thoughts and last second limb twitches I think of introducing myself to them. They’re essentially guests, after all. 

Hello, I’m Seth Rollins. I’ve done nothing with my life and it’s almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written in first person before so I hope this wasn't too bad. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning I wake up to footsteps trudging up the stairs. There’s a squeak of rubber as whoever abruptly stops at the open doorway. My plan was to go back to my apartment after I grabbed the pills. But I’m dramatic and decided to do my weeping here. 

They quietly walk through the apartment, as though expecting someone to jump out. If I wasn’t so tired it’d be an idea. I don’t think either of them understands the concept of knocking. 

“What was that about us breaking in?” Blue eyes, Dean, stands at the doorway watching me.

I grumble in response, slowly sitting up. “What're you doing here?”

“Came up to invite you to breakfast.” He says, a slow drawl to his voice as though he had just woke up. “Kind of a thanks for letting us stay.”

“Didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

He gives a little half shrug, amused look on his face. “Guess you’re right. But seein’ as we’re now temporary neighbors thought it’d be nice.”

“Remember that part last night…” I clear my throat, my limbs feel strange. Probably took too many of whatever. “That whole, leave me alone, part?”

“I don’t think you wanna be alone.”

I instantly grow tense, jaw throbbing again.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“What?”

“You should come downstairs. Food’s gonna get cold.” He leaves the room while I’m scrambling to get out of bed.

“Wait! You can’t just fucking say that to someone!”

He stops, for a second he’s distracted by the gaudy decor and I nearly slam into him. “Why not?” 

“It’s rude.” Because I’m a shining beacon of politeness. “It’s…”

“There’s no time to be subtle.” He tells me like it’s a basic fact. And it is.

It’s all I ever wanted. The circles I travel in we all have this outer veneer about ourselves. People are disposable, we all know it so no one ever really gets close. I love everyone and everyone loves me but I don’t give a fuck about them when it comes down to it. I cared about Tyler because I’d known him so long, we used to be close. But things change and now he’s rotting in a mansion with a hundred other people.

This could be refreshing. 

Or annoying. 

At the very least, it’s a better breakfast than a protein shake. 

The first floor apartment is a bit boring. Nothing of real note, just your average stock photo-esque type of place. I try to think of who lived here, it had to have been a family by the looks of things. Why couldn’t I remember them? The partying and crashing with whoever I had been in with a relationship depending on the month probably had something to do with it. Spare me the judgemental looks until after I’m dead, thanks.

“Glad Dean could convince you to come down.” Roman smiles, his voice a lot more mellow than Dean’s gruffness.

I think of saying me too but the food could be poisoned for all I know. Sure, that might be over the top but after Tyler’s party anything’s a possibility. I don’t remember the last time I had a normal breakfast like this. Pancakes stacked ridiculously high. The smell of over sugary syrup and melted butter filling the room. My stomach growls in sad rabid desperation. I want to put on my practised smile. Say, thank you for inviting me, you guys seem less creepy today.

“Anything to drink?” I ask instead. 

Roman gestures at the fridge, without even meaning to I smile at him. Not a display case smile but a natural twitch of the lips. He doesn’t seem like a guy who’d lace the food with something. Why go through all the trouble? Among the juice boxes and mineral water there’s some basic cheap beer. Better than nothing, I guess.

I put out a few cans on the table and Dean snaps one open taking a drink. The three of us settle at the table and I feel awkward, like I’m the intruder. 

“Why here?” I glance over the both of them. “I mean, there are plenty of places to ride this thing out. Why pick this place?”

“Tryin’ to kick us out again?” Dean asks and I shake my head.

Roman shrugs. “There was a riot happening at our building. Wasn’t worth the trouble so we left, came across this place. Like I said, we thought it was abandoned.” 

“Nobody knows it’s here, I think.” I say. “Everyone has summer homes or better places to hide.” 

“Not you, though?” Dean eyes me. He’s an instigator. Great. “Hey, we still don’t know your name.”

“It’s Seth.” I take a drink wondering how well I should get to know these people. “And this… don’t know where else I’d go.” My childhood home, a place I should be sentimental about, especially now. Thing is, I don’t feel much about anything. 

“We wanted someplace quiet.” Dean sips at his beer. “Honestly,-”

An explosion miles away cuts him off. His shoulders sag and I burst into laughter. It’s too perfect. Even Roman’s quietly giggling at him.

“You both suck. Shut up.” Dean attempts to glower at us but he’s smirking. 

It’s a little easier after that. I find out they’ve been dating for five years and tell them my longest relationship lasted a whopping six months. I try to keep the focus on them, their happy little life at their apartment. They don’t need to know me. 

My gaze drifts around the room again, there’s one of those cheesy family photos hanging on the wall in the main room. All them dressed nice and smiling so brightly. Dean’s talking about possibly leaving the city while I stare at the photo. I hated those things, every fucking Christmas we’d have to take a family portrait and I just…

Fuck.

“Fuck!” I shove away from the table and run from the apartment. 

I’m so dumb. Let myself get distracted. Racing up the stairs, I tear apart my bedroom looking for the stupid thing. What if I missed my chance? I finally find my phone accidently tossed away under the bed. No missed calls, just like before. I slump on the floor against the bed, the phone by my feet and my head in my hands. 

“Seth?” Dean calls out, the pair of them entering the loft. 

“Sorry, I-”

I don’t know what to say to them. I’m a second away from crying. Something I don’t even do around my so called friends let alone some strangers. Same difference, I guess. 

“Who’re you waiting for?”

“Nobody. Look, we don’t know each other and we don’t need to. So if you could just leave… please.” 

Dean looks like he wants to argue but Roman lightly pulls him by the arm.

“We’ll be downstairs, alright?” Roman says and I nod hoping it’ll make them go faster. 

The last time I spoke to my parents we fought. But, you could look to any point in time the last couple of years and we would probably be arguing. So it shouldn't be that surprising and yet here I am wailing about it. They went to some villa in France to spend Christmas, I was supposed to go but I was too busy being dramatic.

That and usually ten minutes into any family conversation things would start to turn sour. 

They didn’t approve of what I did with my time or who I spent it with. There was something wrong with every aspect of my lifestyle. And, ok, they weren’t completely wrong but it was my life to fuck up, not theirs. I was still trying to figure things out. Eventually, I’d know what I wanted to do, it just hadn’t struck me yet. I’d tell them not to worry, that things would fall into place. 

What a joke that turned out to be. 

I enjoyed my life, shallow as it might’ve been. It was fun and I was happy. Sometimes there were moments of loneliness then the next night I’d be out with everyone and those feelings would be gone. Dean was painfully right when he mentioned me not wanting to be alone, which is funny considering I had just shoved away possibly the last human contacts I’ll have before we all bite the big one. 

Guilt wraps around my chest and I’m more annoyed than anything. Not that I should care but my stomach’s contently full on pancakes. I didn’t say thank you, which again, not something I generally give a fuck about. But there was kindness to them and I hadn’t even done anything.

Well, I yelled at them.

And uselessly waved a knife. 

After a few more minutes of pouting I get up, pocketing the phone, and head to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of overpriced bourbon I quietly make my way downstairs. If I couldn’t vocalize a thank you I could at least give them something better than that shit beer to drink. I drop off the bottle at their doorstep, give a quick knock and dash to the second floor pressing in the keycode before entering the flat. 

All these years and he’s never bothered changing it. The place is a bit different than it used to be, more modern minimalistic, but it still feels like him. Chris Jericho, a loud mouthed, self absorbed rockstar. The night we met he told me he was going to marry me.

Admittedly, we were both coming back from separate night’s out and I had accused him of being a creep trying to get into my apartment which was actually his. When I realized my mistake I apologized and he kissed me. We fucked on his couch and he told me I was perfect. At twenty-two no one had said something like that to me, not with the kind of warmth his voice carried. 

Nostalgia always makes things appear nicer than they were, though. We were great for each other. Flip of a switch and we were at each other’s throats. He wanted devotion and I wanted attention. Things that we were both willing to give but craved more of each passing day. The highs were incredible, I’d never felt so happily content. Completely ready to spend the rest of my life with someone. But the lows… 

I came back to his apartment late once. Dead in the night no one should be awake late. I don’t even remember what I was on but I was fiery and full of bitterness. I tore apart everything in sight until he tackled me to the ground, both of us shouting at the top of our lungs. All because I saw Chris the night before get cozy with another guy, flirtatious smile and his hand on the other’s hip. The thing is, that’s Chris and I knew that, knew how he was. Just like he understood the kind of person I was. Still am.

Loud, self absorbed, spoiled brat. 

We were doomed from the start. 

But sitting here in his empty apartment I miss it. The ‘could’ve beens’ that would never be. A month ago I didn’t care about any of this, about spending the rest of my life with anyone. You live long enough with the idea that people are disposable you treat romantic relationships that way too. 

Turns out the whole world is disposable, so there’s that. 

And now I’m laughing, tightness growing in my chest like I’m going to puke or cry. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want the end hovering above my head with no chance of escaping it. What stage of grief is this? 

Oh, the one where I sob in my ex's bed until I pass out because I can’t be bothered to find something to drink myself into stupor. That one.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours later I go back to my flat, unsure of what to do with myself. The waiting is the worst part. Like getting a text from a friend who says they just need twenty more minutes an hour ago. Eventually, we’re going to get somewhere but I’m stuck in limbo until then. 

“Seth? You in there?” Dean calls from the hallway before swinging open the door. “There you are.”

The lopsided smile on his face tells me he’s been enjoying the bourbon. His extra mussed up hair tells me something else and I can’t help laugh. 

“Where’s Roman?” 

“On his way.” He tells me. “Shower.”

“Looks like you could’ve used one, too.” I say looking him over, smirk growing across my lips.

Dean shrugs walking into the room. “Just get dirty again.”

I’m way too sober for this. I walk past him to the kitchen bar when Dean grabs me by the wrist. Those bright blue eyes staring right into me. 

“You look sad.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Don’t mind him.” Roman says at the doorway. “Has even less of a filter when he’s drunk.”

I want to say something. Tell them that they don’t need to flaunt their aftersex in my face but I’m the one that gave them booze in the first place. I slip my wrist out of Dean’s hand and take a step back, throwing on a pleasant smile. 

“It’s fine. Uh, why’d you guys come up here?”

“Wanted to play the piano. You have a piano.” Dean gestures at the black lacquer monstrosity in the room. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You play?”

“Nah, thought you could show me.”

And I’m laughing again. “I can’t play.”

“You were the other night. Show me that.” Dean walks over to the piano and I look over to Roman for help.

Only he gives me that sort of warm smile like he did when we met. “If it isn’t that much trouble?”

I don’t know how any of this is happening. A couple of hours ago I was sobbing my guts out over dying alone. Now I’m standing here with two pretty attractive but also pretty drunk guys, one of which wants me to show him how to play the fucking piano. Maybe I took too many pills last night. Maybe I overdosed and choked on my own puke. 

“Seth?” Dean looks at me and pats the bench in front of the piano. 

“Pour me a drink?” I ask Roman while making my way over. “Doesn’t matter what.”

Sitting beside Dean I look at the keys and shake my head. “You don’t really want me to show you this do you?”

“I do, really.” He smiles and while I still don’t really believe him I hold out my hands following more to memory than knowledge.

“Fine. Watch me, ok?”

Halfway into the song I glance over and the fucker isn’t even looking at my hands.

“I told you to watch.”

“I am. You look pretty cute trying to concentrate.”

Roman puts down an amber filled glass of something and again I’m looking to him for help. 

“Pay attention, Dean.” He says mussing Dean’s hair even further.

“Yea, yea.” 

I start, getting once again halfway into the song before Dean places his hands over mine and I freeze. Before I even get a chance to pull my hands away Dean nips at my ear. Out of instinct I shove him back, nearly stumbling over my own feet getting up from the bench.

“I think you should take him downstairs.” I tell Roman.

But there’s no shock or embarrassment in his face and I’m left standing there feeling like everyone’s in on the goddamn joke except me.

“I mean,” Roman shrugs, “he’s not wrong about the cute part.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Yea, I’m way too sober for this.

“Like I said, no time to be subtle.” Dean smiles.

This is ridiculous. Both of them are watching me and I feel a bit exposed which is all the more frustrating because this kind of situation isn’t that odd for me. But right now I’m a fucking deer in headlights. 

“It’s ok if you-” Roman starts to say but I cut him off.

“I didn’t say no.” Because Seth Rollins refuses to be considered a prude. “You guys just caught me off guard.” 

“It’s not a big deal if you-”

I take a step over to Roman. “I didn’t say no.” 

What am I even trying to prove? Hey, don’t dare question my ability to take cock cause I will show you how much I can fucking handle.

“You’re kind of a brat aren’t ya?” Dean smirks and I roll my eyes.

“And you’re kind of an ass.”

My type, pretty much.

The problem here is I’m usually on the heavy side of buzzed in situations like this. I’m too aware of everything. Their eyes. Cool air on my skin. My heart beating too fast. And that whole end of the world thing. 

God, is that a bummer.

“So which one of you first?”

I’m not saying I’m an idiot. I just happen to have a gold medal in leaping before looking. Most of the time it works out and when it doesn’t I act like that was my plan all along. So when neither of them responds right away I take the last remaining steps over to Roman and push him back onto the couch. This part is easy, straightforward. Just climb onto Roman’s lap and slowly begin to rock back and forth, feel that warmth harden underneath me. Look over my shoulder at Dean and smile at the hungry look in his eyes. Bite my lip just enough to make him swallow down a gulp of air. 

Like I said, it’s easy.

Then my phone rings. 

I fall off Roman landing right on my ass as I push away from him and dig into my pocket. I don’t recognize the number but I don’t care. I answer and feel my stomach drop. My mother’s voice, faint and full of static. She says my name and I call back to her but I don’t think she can hear me. She sounds so worried. I’ve never felt like such a horrible son up until this very moment. The call cuts out and I’m left sitting here completely lost.

Dean and Roman are still watching but that hunger is gone. Replaced with sympathetic looks I don’t want. I need to get up and go to my bed, collapse there for a few hours but I can’t make myself move. 

I’ll never get to see my parents again. 

And I fucking lose it.


End file.
